


Sometimes Not Seeing Is Believing

by FeelingFredly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Happily Ever After, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Sassy Peter Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Werewolf Mates, because I said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25162201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelingFredly/pseuds/FeelingFredly
Summary: Stiles gave him a lopsided grin. “I wouldn’t poison you, Der.” His grin turned sharp and sharklike. “At least not much. I just need to test it on you to make sure it will work on other weres.”Derek snorted. “And you didn’t think Peter would be a better target for your experiments?”That got him a shrugged shoulder.  “He offered, but I didn’t think it was a good idea.”---or that time when an invisibility potion helped Derek see things a lot more clearly.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 18
Kudos: 564





	Sometimes Not Seeing Is Believing

**Author's Note:**

> I wandered into Teen Wolf purely by accident, and well... this happened.
> 
> Here's hoping it makes some of you happy. :)

_Bam, bam, bam._ The loft door rattled in its track.

“Come on, dude… open the door.” Stiles yelled; frustration lanced through the words, but Derek didn’t move.

“I know you’re home,” more rustling, Stiles's hands were full of something, “and if you wanted to pretend you weren’t home, you shouldn’t have left the Camaro out front. Now open the damn door or I’m going to drop all this shit and the place is going to stink of l’eau de wolfsbane for weeks.”

Derek listened as Stiles juggled things from hand to hand and sighed. Which was worse, Stiles or wolfsbane? Stiles or… Yeah, he’d take the wolfsbane. It would hurt less.

He waited, listening as the bags shifted again, and rolled his eyes when he heard keys clinking together as Stiles finally gave up on him and unlocked the door for himself. The very same door whose locks he had just changed for the fourth time. In six months. He wondered if there was a spell Stiles used to copy his keys. He was too much of a spaz to be such a successful pickpocket.

“I’m not in the mood, Stiles.”

Long limbs flailed their way across the living room until Stiles finally coasted to a stop at the table, dumping bags and boxes on the surface, the smell of Thai mixing with wolfsbane and cinnamon and lightning. It shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was, but this was Stiles and for some reason rules didn’t apply to Stiles.

“You’re never in the mood, Sourwolf,” he snarked, a pink lip curled up in a grin that was half-mocking half serious. “If I didn’t know Braedon better, I’d recommend you get the hardware checked out, but clearly it’s a software problem, or you wouldn’t be such an asshole about it all the time.”

Derek refused to get angry; it had stopped keeping the younger man away a long time ago, and it was exhausting. “You know a lot about assholes?”

Stiles gave him a carefully casual look, his eyes just a little bigger than usual, but Derek could hear the stutter in his heartbeat as he responded. “Assholes? If you mean the coffeeshop kind or the grocery store kind, then yeah, I run into them all the time. But, like real assholes? Hardware kinds of assholes? I know as much as the next sexually curious bi-guy, but if you’re looking for something deeper—Oh my God, I just said _deeper_ about your asshole—shit. No.” He scrubbed a hand through the long mop of hair that insisted on flopping over his forehead. “Assholes, right. Because if you _do_ have an actual hardware problem, I could probably track down one of Deaton’s contacts and we could get you…”

Derek watched as the chaos unfolded in front of him, the blush that tinged the tips of Stiles's ears, and the way his voice dropped and graveled out as he spoke.

“They say,” he said, a little louder than usual, “if you run into an asshole in the morning, you run into an asshole.” Derek’s tone cut straight through the babble, and Stiles stared at him, surprised and confused at the conversational hijacking.

“Dude, that’s like Tautology 101, right?”

Amber eyes fixed on him, now curious and waiting for what would come next, and Derek forced himself to hold the gaze.

“Right, right, but it’s the next part that’s important.”

Stiles leaned forward, his chest a little out over the edge of the counter, and Derek noticed the way his nipples pressed against the fabric of his thin shirt, how the stretched-out neck showed the shadow along his clavicle, how it framed the hummingbird beating of the pulse point at the base of his throat.

“Okay,” he said. “Go on.”

“So, if you run into an asshole in the morning, you run into an asshole. But if you run into assholes _all day_ —like at the coffee shop or the grocery or _my apartment_ —then then _you’re_ the asshole.”

Derek could see the wheels turning and felt a burst of satisfaction when Stiles froze as the penny dropped.

“Oh my God, _Dude_. You’re such an _asshole_.” Amber eyes disappeared in crinkled laugh lines, shoulders shaking, and floppy hair… flopping, and Derek couldn’t help the tightness that squeezed his lungs, his breath short and his heart kicking up a beat.

“And _there’s_ my point made.” Derek rested a hip on the edge of the table, forcing himself back to blasé, and looked at the mess. “What is all this?”

Stiles was still staring at him stunned, his jaw now slack, pink lips parted, and Derek fought the urge to reach over and snap it shut or thumb it further open. He wanted to thrust the callused pad of his finger against Stiles's tongue and teeth, to hold his mouth captive and revel in its wet heat. He wanted to… well, he just _wanted_.

A moment passed, and then another, and suddenly Stiles was back with him, laughter gone and the full force of his attention a heavy weight in the echoing space between them.

“Well this,” he indicated the plastic bags full of takeout, “is dinner from that new place over on 4th. Peter mentioned that you’d been there and liked it, so I figured it was a suitable bribe for the rest of it.”

 _Thanks Peter_ , Derek thought tiredly. Peter and Stiles had been spending time together since the nogitsune was killed. He’d wondered about it in the beginning, half-afraid that Stiles was going to try to commit suicide by werewolf, but it made a strange kind of sense. Peter knew what it was like to be helplessly trapped in his own body, and although neither of them liked to admit it, they were people who lived their lives hyperaware of the chessboard that stretched out around them. They spent their days evaluating other people for their strengths and weaknesses and cataloging the weaknesses for the next time someone needed to be taken out of the game. As the Hale Pack’s Left Hand, Peter had been trained to ruthlessness from childhood. He espoused the belief that everything was a weapon if you knew how to wield it, and then the fire had stripped away any of his remaining hesitance to wield those weapons to their greatest destruction; the nogitsune had burned away Stiles's. They were predators and they recognized themselves in each other, and instead of fear or awkwardness they found companionship.

The world should be terrified; Derek was. He was also more than a little jealous of their closeness, but that was an entirely different problem.

“The rest of it? Including whichever one of these things reeks of wolfsbane? I’m not sure Thai is enough of a bribe for me to let you poison me.”

Stiles gave him a lopsided grin. “I wouldn’t poison you, Der.” His grin turned sharp and sharklike. “At least not much. I just need to test it on you to make sure it will work on other weres.”

Derek snorted. “And you didn’t think Peter would be a better target for your experiments?”

That got him a shrugged shoulder. “He offered, but I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Peter _offered_? To let Stiles _poison him_?

“Okay,” he looked at the younger man suspiciously, “you’ve got my attention. _That_ requires an explanation. Or two. Uncle Peter—my Uncle Peter—offered to let you poison him? And you turned him down? I don’t follow.”

Stiles's grin softened a little, the shark-teeth disappearing behind pink lips, but the sharpness was still there in his smile. It was always there. Derek _dreamed_ of that smile. Of those sharp eyes and teeth. “I know, I know. It seems too good to be true, but really, it isn’t a good idea.”

“And poisoning me is?” Derek poked the Gordian knot of Stiles's words harder. When Stiles danced around something like this it was never a good thing. Better to get it all out in the open and work backwards from _no._

“Now don’t get your knickers in a knot, Grumpywolf. This isn’t like normally poisoning someone. I mean it is poisonous, but then so is water in the right situation. Or the wrong situation? You know, drowning, water intoxication, all that jazz?”

“No, Stiles,” Derek sighed. He sighed a lot these days. It was a bad habit he picked up from having been around too many teenagers over the past few years. “I don’t know what you mean by _all that jazz_. Enlighten me.”

Stiles nodded, and somehow having been given permission to spew data, instead his brain settled down and focused. “Poisoning is when any substance interferes with normal body functions after it is swallowed, inhaled, injected, or absorbed, lots of things can be poisons. Technically. So, I’ve managed to cobble together a combination of wolfsbane, kanima skin—don’t ask how I got it, you don’t want to know—and a few other wonders of the botanical and magical world and have created an incredibly potentially poisonous invisibility potion.”

Derek stiffened. “ _An invisibility potion_?”

Stiles laughed a little shakily, waving his hands around, long fingers wiggling in his best _abracadabra_ kind of motion. “I know right? Harry Potter eat your heart out. But really… it worked for me—mostly—but because it’s got a fairly massive amount of aconite in it, I’m worried about using it on any of our moon-affected family and friends. Plus, I don’t think Peter really needs the temptation of being able to turn invisible whenever he wants to. I mean, he’s hard enough to keep track of when I can see him. He doesn’t need any help creeping.”

 _An invisible Peter_. Derek shuddered. Now that was a terrifying thought. Actually, an invisible Stiles was almost as terrifying. There was no telling what he’d get into and Derek wouldn’t be able to see him, to protect him, to… hang on a second. He said it _worked for him_. That meant that he-- 

“Are you insane?” Derek’s voice cracked under the strain of not yelling, the racing train of his thoughts running through all the ways that could’ve gone wrong, and he wouldn’t even have known that Stiles was in danger. His heart tried to beat its way out of his chest, and he felt his claws dig into the wooden tabletop. “Making something that dangerous without telling anyone?”

“Hey now, hold up, Sourwolf,” Stiles grabbed his hand, pulling Derek back to himself in a rush. “No need to get all growly. We’re in total agreement: no superpowers for Peter.”

Derek sucked in a breath, the heat of Stiles's hand on his drawing his focus, and he flashed his eyes angrily. “Kind of missing the point here, genius.” He forced himself to breathe. “I’m upset that _you_ drank something poisonous. Superpowers for Peter would be better than you being _dead_.” His wolf howled in the back of his mind, protective and frustrated and helpless. So damn helpless when it came to Stiles. Didn’t the man have any sense of self-preservation? “So, before I call the Sheriff and start telling him things you would _really_ rather he not know, you’d better start explaining. Now.”

He smelled the surprise rolling off the younger man, Derek’s reaction clearly unexpected, and he felt a stab of remorse. Over the years that Stiles ran with the pack his health and safety had often been an afterthought rather than a priority. He’d sacrificed his body time and again without appreciation or recognition. Derek was the first to admit that he had been a lousy Alpha to the human in the pack, and later, after he’d lost his Alpha spark, he’d abandoned Beacon Hills and everyone in it. Derek had wandered the world with Cora and Braedon finding himself, picking up the pieces of his own life, but he’d never been there to help pick up the pieces of Stiles's, never been there to help or hold or heal him, and now, for his sins, he couldn’t change the dynamic no matter how he ached to.

“Huh.” The hand resting on his pulled away finally and he watched it as Stiles pushed it shakily through his hair. “First off, I guess, I was never in any danger, so pulling the Dad card is totally unnecessary, dude. My, uh, my spark has gotten strong enough that I can pretty much burn out any poison in my system if I know what it is and that it’s there, so my testing the potion for its poison factor was a non-thing. Not a _nothing_ , because the test was definitely a _something_ , but it wasn’t a _thing_ thing. Like a capital T thing. And as you can see, I didn’t turn into an ever-loving, blue-eyed Thing—although Peter’s eyes are blue and he’d probably love that comparison. He’d probably turn it into some sort of sex stamina reference and then we’d never hear the end of it.—the”

“ _Stiles_.” Derek rubbed his eyes and sighed. Again. “Focus.”

Pink tinged Stiles's cheeks and he could hear the skip-skip-pause of his heart as the younger man wound down and refocused on the subject at hand.

“Yeah. Right. So, the point was there was no danger for the Stiles and no need to include the Sheriff—which is still a low blow, even if he does know about the monthly fur-and-fang-a-thon—but still superpowers for Peter would be a tick in the bad column, so I’m here with Thai and potentially poisonous potions for you to consume. If you’re willing.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think my having superpowers would be a bad thing?”

Stiles snorted. “ _Dude_. You having superpowers would be _awesome_! You’d be like Thor to Peter’s Loki. Iron Man to his Ultron. Superman to his Lex Luthor.”

“Batman to his Ra’s al Ghul?”

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at him way too seriously. “All the points for knowing the pairing, but no. You’re never going to be Batman.”

Derek snorted. “Let me guess. Because you’re Batman?” Stiles shook his head.

“Wrong again, my wolfy friend.” Derek watched as long fingers pulled a bag across the table, rattling the vials and jars inside. “The Bat’s a loner that’s given up on relationships. He has like two people at a time that he lets in his world—that’s all he has room for, and all he wants. _More_ than he wants, sometimes. No, you’re not Batman because even though someone killed your family, they didn’t kill your hope. The world may kick your ass over and over again, but you just keep getting back up and putting the Jenga-tower of your life back together, and every time it’s a little better, taller, stronger, sometimes with new pieces you find and adopt along the way. It ain’t pretty, but it’s pretty awesome.”

Stiles's eyes glowed a little around their amber irises and Derek didn’t hear a single hiccup in his heartbeat. The faith he had… it took his breath away. Was there anything he wouldn’t be willing to do for this man? Probably not. He just had to hope that no one figured that out—especially Stiles. 

“Whatever,” Derek said, pushing away from the table and grabbing the bag of Thai with a forced eye roll, and moving it to the other counter. “But I’m not eating until afterwards. Throwing up when the potion goes wrong would suck.”

Stiles nodded and grabbed his things, settling on a stool at the table. “Sounds reasonable to me, which doesn’t mean much but hey! It’s better than sounding unreasonable, which is where _most_ of our plans start.”

There was no point in arguing. It was true.

“So, this potion… I’m assuming that you have more of the wolfsbane you used in it to burn and dose me if it goes wrong.”

Stiles nodded as he pulled one of the jars from the bag and shook it before setting it out with the other assorting jars lined up in front of him. “I’ve actually already burned a couple of blooms and have them ready to go. I’m pretty positive that you won’t feel anything from the aconite—it should be completely neutralized now that it’s bonded with the other ingredients—but I’ve been absolutely positive about things that have gone sideways before, as Scott can attest.”

“Hell, _I_ can attest to that.” Derek crossed his arms across his chest. “Remember the harpy repellant?”

Stiles opened his mouth to say something—probably to argue again that anyone that wasn’t an expert in medieval Latin could have mixed up the recipes for a repellant and an attractant, _again_ —but the words faded as his gaze lingered on his biceps a little longer than usual. Derek’s wolf stretched and sniffed with interest at the faint spike of arousal that wove through the Spark’s scent, and he forced himself not to move, not to lean across the table and reel him in, not to cage him with the muscles that the younger man seemed to like so much. Once Derek crossed that line there would be no going back for him, and he wouldn’t let his wolf push him into grabbing something that would never satisfy.

He wanted all of Stiles or nothing, and he knew he’d probably never have all of him. Knowledge, though, did nothing to stop the yearning.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. But you have to admit that once we knew what I’d actually made instead of what I thought I was making, that it worked like _fuck_. I mean we had harpies for days. It was like a Best of Runescape monster farming mission. I swear Isaac leveled up three times that week.”

Derek shook his head. “You have the strangest way of looking at things.”

Stiles raised a shoulder rose in an unusually graceful shrug. “Silver linings, dude. You should embrace them.”

Derek didn’t say that he embraced the silver lining of having Stiles in the pack every day, regardless of how it tormented his wolf.

“Werewolves and silver don’t mix.” Stiles rolled his eyes and Derek gave him a half-hearted glare. “And don’t call me dude.”

“It’s Beacon Hills, Sourwolf,” he said. “The silver lining is the only thing that keeps me going.”

There was a stutter in Stiles's heartbeat, and Derek cast a sidelong glance at the Spark. It made sense that there was something important that kept him going, but it was strange that he felt the need to hide it. Derek respected secrets, though. He had more than enough of his own.

“Whatever works.” He let the subject drop and turned his attention back to the pile of magical detritus on the table. “So, are we going to do this or not?”

Stiles let out a breathless laugh. “Masochist. Can’t even wait for me to poison you.”

“Not a masochist,” he said, spreading his hands expansively. “More of a control freak. Peter isn’t the only one who likes to be in control of things you know.”

“Yeeeaaaahhh.” The word sounded like it had been stretched on a rack until it was just a breathless hiss. “Not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.”

Derek let the corner of his mouth twitch, grabbing the opportunity to tease a little. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it, Stiles. It’s like the boxers/briefs question you were obsessed with back in high school. The logical next step would be who’s a top and who’s,” he paused to let the words land between them, “ _not_.”

The younger man shook his head, like the motion would dislodge the thoughts inside, and frowned. “Nope. Nope. Nope. Not playing that game with you, Sourwolf.”

The ‘wolf leaned in infinitesimally, enjoying watching the other man shift on his stool. “So, there’s another game you’d prefer to play. All you had to do was say something.”

The pink on Stiles's cheeks ripened to rose and the mottled edge of embarrassment spread beneath the collar of his shirt. The burnt cinnamon and ozone that was his constant scent deepened with musk and salt and the sticky iron scent of blood rushing close to the surface of moon-pale skin. Derek’s mouth watered, and he could feel the itch of his canines threatening to drop with his need to bite, to mark, to claim and keep.

Dark eyes, gleaming and liquid, fixed on him and he could feel the air thicken and slow around them, time bending around them, like a river passing over rocks. 

“Keep that up and I’m not going to feel bad if this experiment goes badly.” Stiles's voice was rough, and Derek’s wolf howled with satisfaction knowing that he wasn’t the only one affected.

He considered teasing more, drawling something suggestive about experimentation or making sure Stiles never felt bad again, but he backed off instead. This was prey he couldn’t afford to spook.

“Well,” he said, rocking back on his heels to give the younger man breathing room, “I can’t have that. I am putting myself in your hands after all.”

It was more truth than he usually shared, but there was enough camouflage for it to look harmless.

Stiles stared, the heat of his blush still radiating even as the color faded, and Derek waited. His wolf wouldn’t let him drop his eyes, but he didn’t push beyond that challenge.

“ _Okay_.” There was a world in the word, and he watched as the tightness slowly leached out of Stiles's shoulders as he sucked in a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s get this party started.”

Back in his safety zone, Stiles pushed the first of three vials across the table, keeping the larger jars of ash and herbs—and was that charcoal?—to the side, before tapping it with a long finger.

“This is the actual invisibility part of things. It doesn’t taste too bad, or at least it didn’t to my human taste buds. There’s no guarantee that you won’t smell or taste something I can’t, but it shouldn’t be too noxious. I measured the dose to give you about fifteen minutes of full activation. You’re bigger than I am, and this much lasted about twenty-five minutes for me.”

Derek picked up the vial. “Just drink it?”

“Yeah, dude, just knock it back like a bad wolfbane shot at one of the betas’ parties. It should have less aftertaste than the stuff they add to their liquor.”

“And instead of drunk I end up invisible.”

Stiles couldn’t hold back a little laugh. “That _is_ the hope.”

Derek tilted the test tube and watched the silvery liquid run back and forth. “And the other ones?”

Stiles jerked a little, pulling his eyes away from where he’d been watching Derek’s hands, almost hypnotized. “Well, that’s the thing. For a human, making someone invisible is huge, but for weres there are other issues.”

Derek nodded. “Like heartbeat or scent.”

“Exactly.” Stiles held up a test tube of thick purple liquid. “This is my best attempt so far at something that will muffle the bio-sounds—breathing, heartbeat, joints popping, all that stuff. The other one,” he picked up the third, gently waving it, the shimmery rose gold liquid coating the glass, “masks scent. It’s going to be the hardest to test because scent isn’t a thing for me like it is for you, so I guess I could take it—”

“No.” Derek cut him off. The thought of not being able to smell Stiles's scent made him grit his teeth and fight back a growl. “It’d be better if we tested that with another were.”

“But I was thinking that as Alpha your senses are better than any of the betas, so if you can’t—”

“No, Stiles,” he refused. “I’ll try it later. We’re already pushing the parameters of a reasonable test with two senses.”

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly ready to argue the points, but he backed down, probably realizing that he was lucky to be getting cooperation with as much as he was.

“I guess that’s okay,” he said, slipping the rose gold potion back into his bag, and Derek reached out and touched his hand.

“We’ll do it later. I would just be more comfortable doing this in stages.”

Something thoughtful moved behind Stiles's eyes and Derek watched as he came to some conclusion before he accepted everything.

“Sure, Sourwolf. It’s got to be a little weird for you, messing with the wolf senses and all. We’ll put the stealth potion back, too, for now.”

Derek wondered what Stiles would think if he knew _just_ how much he messed with his wolf without the help of any potions, and how the wolf wanted more, not less.

“Probably a good idea. Isn’t like you’re the best judge of stealth either—I’ve seen twelve-year-olds on roller-skates sneak up on you.”

Long limbs flailed a little, like he could fend off the words that way.

“I was focused, Der. _Focused_.” Stiles huffed for a moment and then shrugged. “But to be fair, true enough. I should probably let you test those out against Peter. I’ve noticed that even though he doesn’t have the whole Alpha-upgrade anymore, he seems to be more aware of his surroundings than everyone else.”

Derek made a dismissive noise. His wolf didn’t like the careless praise of another’s skills. “Born not bitten. He’s had longer to get used to it; he doesn’t have to re-frame things when he notices them.”

He watched Stiles's face as the tumblers turned in the Spark’s head and could almost hear it when they clicked into place and another thought was unlocked.

“That actually makes a lot of sense. Kind of like learning a new language. In the beginning you’re doing that English to whatever translation in your head until one day it just sort of snaps into place and suddenly you’re thinking in Urdu.”

“Well, I’ve never studied Urdu…” He spread his fingers out on the tabletop and let the comment just hang, smothering a grin as he watched the man across the table’s eyes grow large in disbelief.

“Look who’s found his sense of humor finally!” The disbelief faded from Stiles's expression and was replaced by something that in the dark, when he was alone, Derek might call affection.

In that same dark, Derek might admit he wanted to see it again.

They sat there for a minute, the quiet stretching between them until it started to curl at the edges, and Derek knew he had to steer things away from the rocks just beneath the surface of his emotions.

He cleared his throat and uncorked the vial, the time for discussion past. He raised an eyebrow and Stiles raised one of his own in reply and that was it. He knocked back the few tablespoons of liquid, the scent of wolfsbane sharp but not overwhelming, and waited as the younger man watched him swallow.

Stiles's eyes followed the movement of his throat and when his forehead creased into a frown Derek thought the potion must have failed, but then a slow smile spread across the Spark’s face. He reached out, long fingers almost touching Derek’s hand on the table, but then pulled back at the last moment.

“Moonlight disappears down the hills, mountains vanish into fog, and Sourwolf vanishes not into poetry, but into thin air.” Stiles's voice was soft, almost somber. “Still with me, Der?”

Derek looked at his hands. He could still see them, so apparently the potion didn’t affect his view of himself, just how others perceived him. “Still here. Nothing actually looks different from my side of the equation.”

Stiles nodded. “That’s the way it’s supposed to work. No good being invisible if you misjudge your reach and knock shit over while you’re trying to be all sneaky. I know that’s probably more a me thing than a wolf thing, but still seemed like the better choice of action.”

Derek nodded and then realized how stupid that was. Stiles couldn’t see him. “I’m sure there are a few of the pack that would benefit from it as well. I know Isaac still doubts his senses sometimes.”

Amber eyes widened a little. “This is so freaky. I can hear you, but I can’t see you. Like, if I closed my eyes I could reach out and find you by touch, but just to _look_ … you’re not there.”

Something about that image—Stiles reaching for him with his eyes closed—pleased Derek’s wolf. “Try it. See if you can find me with your eyes closed.”

He shifted his weight and moved a step to the left of where he’d been standing, but he left his hands trailing on the tabletop. Stiles tilted his head slightly and closed his eyes, listening, but Derek had been practicing stealth since he was a pup playing hide and seek in the Preserve.

A moment passed and he could almost hear Stiles's heartbeat in the silence. Another. And another. Suddenly a hand shot out and before he could move there were long fingers around his wrist, their grip tight and dry and slightly callused from wear.

“Caught you.”

The words were breathless and hoarse, and Derek froze at the sound. Then, he moved.

A twist and a quick levering of his arm had him free and he took two large steps to the side and then two forward, landing silently behind Stiles, ready to move again if he needed to.

“So,” the words, this time, came with a twist of a grin, “you want to play, hmm?”

Derek’s wolf pranced and pawed at the ground, wanting to nip and tug and pull and pin, but the man simply watched and waited as the Spark cocked his head to the side once more and listened.

He wasn’t sure what Stiles was listening to; he was holding his breath, and was standing stock still, no movement or sound of clothing to give him away, but somehow, he was fairly certain Stiles knew _exactly_ where he was.

The Spark shifted his weight and pulled his hand closer to his body before spinning, his hand swinging out in an arc that ended with those damnable fingers wrapped around Derek’s arm just above his elbow.

“Caught you again, Sourwolf.”

His grin spread, taking over his face, and Derek found himself caught in the wild joy that gleamed in his eyes. Then, Stiles's face changed, the eyes focusing on him in a way they hadn’t, and he figured the potion had worn off.

“There you are!” The almost-fondness was back, and Derek couldn’t stop his answering smile.

“Here I am.” He looked down at the hand still gripping his arm. “I have to say, you’re a better hunter when you’re blind than I gave you credit for.”

Stiles let go slowly, fingers dragging over warm skin, until he’d pulled back completely, and all Derek could feel was the echo of his touch.

“It was strange. I couldn’t see you with my eyes, but I could feel where you were and could almost _see_ where you were going to be.”

That was different. Stiles was a lot of things but tuned into his surroundings wasn’t one of them.

“Do you think you might have some connection to the potion because you made it? You could feel me through the magic?”

Stiles paused and looked at him, long and slow, and Derek realized he was looking at him with his spark and not with his eyes. He wondered what his wolf looked like.

“I suppose. Won’t know until we try it on someone else.”

There was a hesitance in his voice and Derek sighed. “Uncle Peter gets superpowers?”

Stiles grabbed the Thai and put it back on the table between them, dragging cartons and cutlery out before nodding reluctantly. “Looks that way, dude. At least this will give us a chance to test all the potions at once, now that we know that the potentially poisonous one isn’t actually, you know…” he waved his hand, “poisonous.”

Derek grabbed his Gka Prow Gai, frowning down into the carton thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. “Silver lining, I guess. And don’t call me dude.”

***

After five years you’d think he’d have lost the impulse to kill his uncle, but you’d be wrong. Very wrong.

“Darling,” Peter gushed, looking at the array of potion vials in his hand, “this is simply amazing. Let me take you away from here, Beacon Hills has nothing to offer you. We can go to Paris—I’m sure Chris would open the little pied-à-terre on the Rue de Ponthieu for us, and there’s a magick shop just down further along the Champs-Élysées that--”

Derek growled and Stiles rubbed a hand over his face. “No, Peter. We talked about this.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Yes, but that was before I truly grasped the depth and breadth of your talent. _This_ ,” he waved the invisibility potion back and forth dramatically, “this _changes things_.”

Stiles rolled his eyes hard enough that Derek could hear it. “Nothing has changed, Peter. _Nothing_. Back off. No means no. Consent is sexy. All those things. Write them on your hand if you need help remembering.”

“I’d be happy to help. I could carve them into the back of his hand with one of _Chris’s_ wolfsbane blades,” Derek said, _sotto voce_. Peter, of course, heard him as if he’d shouted. Which was what he intended, so it all worked out.

“I just think that you’re undervaluing yourself, Stiles,” the older were said, ignoring Derek’s comment and lounging against the side of Stiles's jeep until he looked like an ad for one of those terrible smelling colognes that humans seemed to love. “With skills like these, you could take the world by storm.”

Stiles snorted. “You mean _you_ could take the world by storm if you had constant and controlling access to skills like these, and I’ve told you before, I don’t need a manager, a gigolo, or an overgrown juvenile delinquent to help me prove my _value_.”

Derek smothered a grin. With his v-necks and his perfect tan Uncle Peter would make an excellent gigolo. Maybe they should set up a Craigslist ad for him. He’d have to suggest it to Stiles the next time Peter was being particularly annoying.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Peter shook his head, clearly dismayed at Stiles's short-sightedness. “Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind for when Beacon Hills finally loses its charm.”

The idea of Stiles wanting to leave made him itch, like his skin didn’t fit right. “I’m sure that Stiles could find a better offer if he decided that he didn’t want to be here anymore, Uncle Peter. He doesn’t have to settle for hauling his personal zombie plague around with him.”

He caught a flash of amber eyes, wide and surprised, and gritted his teeth. Stiles could have the world on a string. He should know Peter was never his best option.

“Be that as it may, nephew, Stiles isn’t foolish enough—”

“Can we get back to the testing?” Impatience, thy name is Stilinski. “I mean, all this back and forth about leaving is pointless because A) I’m not leaving Beacon Hills. I like it here. All my favorite people are here. And B) It isn’t like I’m going to take your advice anyway, Peter. The last time I did I ended up having to offer a favor to that skeevey ghoul guy that works for the FBI. Not something I want a repeat performance of, thanks.”

Derek jerked around and glared at his uncle. “You got him involved with a _ghoul_? Are you crazy?” He let out a huff of breath. “Don’t bother answering that. Of course, you’re crazy—we already knew that. _Now_ we know that Stiles is crazy, too, because he’s definitely not stupid, and yet he lets you talk him into this crap.”

That got him an unrepentant grin. “It’s called plausible deniability, Sourwolf. Peter’s got broad shoulders—perfect for taking the blame for some of my less, ah, judicious decisions.”

Peter preened. “See Derek? Stiles needs me.”

It was going to take another five years to not want to kill him, at this rate. At least.

“What Stiles _needs_ ,” he said, trying not to think about Stiles's interest in his uncle’s shoulders, “is a guinea pig, and you are a pig. So, drink the damn potion, already. I’m going to sit over here and hope you get a rash from the wolfsbane. Who knows? The Universe might decide that today is my lucky day, and you’ll actually keel over from aconite poisoning.”

Stiles shifted his weight slightly, a chagrined look on his face. “Actually, Der, I was thinking about it, and I think that you should take the invisibility potion, and the other two this time, too, and Peter can do the whole _Where’s Wolfie_ thing and see if he can sense you. It’s a better plan than you using your super-alpha senses to find _him_ , because odds are good that we won’t be using this stuff to hide from alphas, just betas and omegas and puny little humans, so we need to see how a beta would fare against it.”

It made sense, but it still rankled. His wolf didn’t like allowing the older man to effectively hunt him. He wasn’t prey; he especially wasn’t _Peter’s_ prey. It was what Stiles wanted, though, so he soothed the wolf with thoughts of satisfying his mate. It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to use all his advantages against the other wolf, though.

“That’s why I wanted to do this out here in the Preserve. Once the potions have kicked in, it should be a good road test for how it might be used in a fight situation.”

Peter stopped lounging. “So, you really have made this work? He was completely invisible?”

Stiles nodded. “Completely. There was some magical bleed through, I think. A vibration. I could almost _feel_ where he was, but he hadn’t taken the sound dampener or the scent blocker, so those may solve the problem.”

Derek watched as the two of them discussed the finer points of the potions and he waited until they’d ironed out all the parameters for the experiment, and then braced himself for the terrible taste of wolfsbane and knocked back the three potions.

It was strange how similar Peter and Stiles's expressions were, until suddenly, they really, _really_ weren’t the same at all. Peter’s eyes were wide and disbelieving, and Stiles's were bright, the amber lit with mischief and happiness as the invisibility kicked in.

“Told you, Zombiewolf. Now… you tell me what you can sense.” Stiles sounded smug, but honestly he deserved to be smug about this.

“Well,” Peter said, finally, “clearly I can’t see him. And I can’t hear his heartbeat or hear him breathing.”

Stiles nodded. “Good. Still just standing there, Der?”

A terrible, no good, very bad thought took root. He didn’t have to play along nicely, so he wasn’t going to. Screw Peter. He moved lightly to the side, circling a little towards the older wolf.

“Derek?” Stiles asked again, but Derek didn’t reply. The potion wasn’t supposed to block intentional communication, but he could play that off for a while.

“Huh, I wonder if the potion silenced his speech.”

Peter was scanning the area but still wasn’t focused on where he was standing. “It isn’t like we’d be missing much. My dear nephew isn’t exactly loquacious.”

“He talks when he needs to,” Stiles said, a slightly far-away look on his face as he turned and looked directly at where Derek was standing, “and when he does it’s worth listening to. Unlike a few others I can name.”

Peter cocked his head to one side and smirked. “Don’t let the bullies get you down, sweetheart. Your non-stop prattle is simply an idiosyncrasy of genius.”

“And yours is an idiosyncrasy of ego,” Derek muttered the words right next to Peter’s ear and raked his semi-sheathed claws down his uncle’s back before leaping away. Peter jumped in surprise and then crouched, facing the direction that the attack had come from, but he clearly still had no idea of where his attacker was.

Derek froze, trying not to let the grass under his feet rustle, and his uncle frowned. “Now that wasn’t very nice, nephew.” The words carried an edge and it pleased his wolf that the older man was flustered.

“Not nice, but still awesome,” Stiles crowed. “He totally snuck up on you.”

That praise pleased his wolf even more.

“I underestimated the efficacy of the muffling potions. I can’t hear him at all.” Peter scanned the area, panning back and forth over the clearing.

Derek didn’t move. He was fairly certain that Peter would quickly clue in on listening to the sounds his footsteps left behind, and he didn’t want to give himself away too soon. Hunting _Peter_ was fun. Peter had never truly been prey, even when he killed him. Watching him, hackles raised and eyes tight, was very satisfying.

“And you can’t see him? Or feel him?” Stiles looked a little confused, but more curious than anything. He’d been watching Peter, but then, inexplicably, he twisted his head quickly and was staring straight at Derek—again.

“I can’t see him any more than you can, darling. I can’t smell him, either. It’s most… disconcerting.”

A minute passed and while Peter was facing the opposite direction, focused on a sound a little farther into the trees, Derek jumped away, landing as softly as he could, and Stiles's gaze never left him. It was as if he was completely visible to the Spark.

“Weird.” The word was quiet, but it got Peter’s attention.

“What’s weird, sweetheart?” He never stopped scanning the area, but he noticed that Stiles was staring at something. “Did you see something?”

A pause. “No, I can’t see anything. I just thought of something. Do you think emissary bonds might affect this?”

A gust of wind blew through and Derek took the opportunity to move again, the rustling of trees and grass giving him extra cover, but Stiles still tracked him.

“That would imply that you think your emissary bond _might be_ affecting things, and that would further imply that you see something that I don’t.” Sometimes he hated it when Peter was smart, but there was no flaw in that logic. There was definitely something affecting the Spark.

“No,” Stiles denied frustratedly, “I can’t see anything, I can’t hear anything, and I certainly can’t smell anything, but... there’s just…”

Peter was careful about telegraphing his movements, but Derek could see when he’d triangulated on the position Stiles was staring at. He dodged before Peter pounced, but not fast enough to completely prevent contact.

“How _interesting_ ,” Peter practically purred the word, eyes fierce and bright as he shot a look back at Stiles. He tracked that amber gaze again and jumped faster than a cat, forcing Derek to give up on trying to minimize the sound of his feet in the grass.

Stiles realized what was happening and snapped his gaze to the older wolf, preventing him from being able to use him as a homing signal.

“Aw sweetheart, I almost caught him. Show me where he is again.” Fangs dropped and blue eyes flashed. “I owe him a pat on the back after all.”

Derek darted in and swiped a hand across Peter’s neck, just managing to avoid the temptation to actually rake his claws across the exposed stretch of skin, and then danced away again, growling. “And I owe you _absolutely nothing_ , Uncle Peter. Don’t forget that.”

“I’m impressed, Derek.” A mean smile taunted him, even though Peter clearly still couldn’t track him without help. “This is the longest you’ve lasted in a fight against me in forever. Maybe I should cancel those remedial MMA lessons I bought you for Christmas—” He tutted and then sighed. “Oh, never mind. The invisibility isn’t permanent. Unfortunately.”

Derek’s wolf howled at the insubordination, his need to put the beta in his place thrumming through him, but this wasn’t the time or the place for that. Stiles wouldn’t approve, even though he’d probably understand if the thunderous look on his face meant anything.

“Alright Peter, that’s enough,” he said, all his playful snark gone. “I think the experiment has shown us everything it can at this point.”

Peter turned his ice blue gaze on the Spark. “Don’t stop us now. We were just starting to have fun.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You were _just starting_ to get your ass kicked, now shut up before Derek stops being a gentleman and finishes.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s my ass he’s concerned with.” Derek wanted to knock the smarmy smirk from his uncle’s face. “But for your sake, Stiles, I’ll be big.”

Derek couldn’t smother a surprised laugh when Stiles muttered, “A big pain in the neck, and no I’m not making the mistake of saying you’re a pain in my ass again, either, jerkface, and yes I know you can hear me, but I don’t fucking care. I _so_ don’t fucking care, Creeperwolf. Just…”

“Stiles,” Peter said with a laugh of his own, his earlier bloodlust fading, “calm down. Everything’s fine, and look, Derek has rejoined us, just in time for post-game analysis and commentary.”

Stiles settled his gaze on him, his mad muttering temporarily stopped, and gave Derek a half-hearted smile. “Welcome back, Der. Any side effects? Your senses still super-mega-alpha-awesome?”

Derek made a mental run through and found no problems. “Everything seems to be in working order. I didn’t lose anything while the potions were in effect either. Sound and smell stayed the same.”

That got him a satisfied nod. “Excellent. So, basically all the benefits with none of the drawbacks. I was afraid there at the beginning that it was muffling all your sounds, but you were just fucking with him, right?”

He let himself smirk, looking at Peter as he agreed. “Guilty as charged.”

Peter fumed for a moment—he hated being the butt of jokes, especially Derek’s jokes—but then refocused and stared at Stiles. “So, are you going to explain how you could track him when I couldn’t?”

Stiles just shook his head. “You have to have the most fragile ego I have ever seen. No, I don’t have any skills that you don’t, oh great shaggy hunter. It’s my spark, I guess. I made the potion so something about my magick clings to him and I can sense it. I can’t think of any other reason why I can track him, and you can’t. The next test will have to be another magick user trying to track him while he’s invisible. That will let us know if there’s a weakness that witches can exploit against us, or if it’s just something about me.”

Peter cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s another possibility…”

Stiles frowned. “What do you mean ‘another possibility’? You mean you think it’s being caused by something other than spark residue?”

There was something flickering behind Peter’s eyes that Derek didn’t like. He looked nervous, but he smelled almost… hurt? Disappointed?

The older wolf moved across the clearing to the spot where they’d dropped their gear and picked up Stiles's bag for him, ever the gentleman. “So, I suppose you’ll make another batch of the invisibility potion, and call someone—Maryam, maybe? She’s only a minor Spark, but her magick is similar enough to yours to be able to sense the residue if anyone could.”

Stiles took a minute to follow, still looking at Derek curiously, before finally heading over towards his uncle. “No, I’ve made enough that we don’t have to wait—thank the moon, that potion takes at least two lunar cycles—but Maryam might be a good idea… _hey_. Stay out of that! _Peter_!”

Derek watched as Peter reached into the bag and lunged for the older wolf as soon as he realized what was happening, but he was too far away to stop him before he’d managed to pull out another vial of silver liquid and swallow the contents faster than an underaged frat boy at his first party.

“Peter! You absolute _fuckbucket_ ,” Stiles snarled, staring at the space where his uncle had been standing. “I know you were miffed because you wanted to try it, but this is not the way to get me to cooperate. See what happens the next time you want some obscure tantric text translated. Your Sanskrit sucks, dude, and after that stunt I am _so_ not feeling the love, so neither will you. Sneaky blue-eyed bastard.”

Derek crouched, waiting for an attack. “Where is he Stiles?” he asked around fangs that had already dropped. He scanned the clearing reflexively and then stopped, trying to focus on Peter’s heartbeat. It took him a moment to find it, but once he did, it was easy to track the other wolf. “ _Never mind_ ,” he growled and then pounced, claws out.

Peter spun away, but Derek’s claws showed red when he pulled them back. “You shouldn’t take what _doesn’t belong to you_ , Uncle Peter.” He paused, recentering himself on Peter’s heartbeat. “You’ve never appreciated the things you’re given. I told Stiles you’d fuck up. I just didn’t think you’d be this obvious about it.”

A rough laugh cut through the empty space. “I _wouldn’t_ be this obvious, nephew. _This_ was a calculated risk. Stiles?” Peter called to the Spark. “Can you track me through your magick, sweetheart? Can you sense where I am?”

There was something almost hopeful in the question, like he _wanted_ Stiles to be able to track him.

“No,” Stiles's reply was soft and perplexed, his eyes large and liquid as his brain ran through all the possible reasons. “I can’t sense you at all.”

Peter sighed, and before Derek could take another swipe at him, he’d picked up Stiles's bag where he’d dropped it on the turf, letting the bag floating in mid-air clearly mark his location. “So, the connection between you and my lump of a nephew isn’t connected to your magick, or the potion, at all. I’d wager,” he sounded rueful, “that you’d be able to find him blindfolded as well.”

Stiles chewed on his lower lip, hesitance sitting awkwardly on his typically confident frame. “So, it _is_ the emissary bond that’s allowing me to follow him?”

“No, dear boy,” Peter slipped the bag over Stiles's shoulder. Derek watched the flannel wrinkle where his uncle was resting his hand and he growled lowly, unhappy at the contact. “If it were an _emissary_ bond, you’d still be able to track me as Derek’s second. No.” The wrinkles disappeared, and he could hear Peter’s retreating footsteps. “It’s something else. I’m sure you two can figure it out. But I think I’m going to take this opportunity to stretch my legs. My wolf and I could use a little time.”

Suddenly there was a pile of abandoned clothes on the ground, and Derek could hear Peter’s heartbeat fade as he ran towards the deepest part of the Preserve, apparently in wolf form.

“Well, that answers the question about whether the things on someone using the potion stay invisible if they come off.” Stiles mumbled, gathering the fabric up and looking a little bereft. It made something in his chest hurt.

“You okay?” His wolf was whining, and he strangled his instinct to rush over and put his hands on the smaller man, to physically check that there was nothing wrong, to comfort him however he was allowed. He wanted to bury his nose in the divot behind Stiles's ear where his scent pooled; he wanted to soothe his mate. “Peter’s fine. He smelled a little upset, but his chemosignals read more like when he’s pouting than when he’s getting ready to go on a killing spree.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice a little rough around the edges, “not so worried about the killing spree thing. Peter likes his life right now, more or less; he won’t jeopardize it over not getting something he wants.”

 _He wants you._ The words spun through Derek’s head and he gritted his teeth against speaking them. “Good. I’d hate to have to kill him again. Repetition is so boring.”

Stiles gave him a half-hearted grin and hiked his bag higher on his shoulder. “I know how you hate to be bored.”

Derek shrugged. “We all have our crosses to bear.”

They turned and started walking towards where they’d left their cars. “You going to tell me what Peter was talking about back there?”

He had a suspicion. Lots of people misjudged Derek’s intelligence over the years, assuming that because he didn’t say much he didn’t _think_ much, but he wasn’t stupid. Whatever was bothering Stiles was more than just the theft of a potion. If it were anyone else, he’d just let it ride, but this was _Stiles_.

Peter had emphasized that it wasn’t an _emissary_ bond. There weren’t many bonds that affected wolves, and pack bonds and emissary bonds were the most common. There was an Alpha’s bond with their betas, and of course, there were _mate bonds_. Mates had a connection that no other could supersede; not even an Alpha could break it without stealing all the memories the couple shared. His wolf had decided that Stiles was his mate years ago. Derek knew his heartbeat and scent better than he knew his own. He could pick the younger man out of a crowd—yes, even blindfolded—but Peter was intimating that _Stiles_ was connected to _him_ , and that… well, that didn’t seem possible.

Stiles was stalking towards his Jeep muttering, cursing under his breath about _stupid Peter and his big fucking mouth_ and _never doing another favor for the fucking asshole since he can’t stay out of other peoples’ business_ , until Derek’s suspicions had started to choke him.

What if Peter was right? 

He reached out and snagged the strap of Stiles's bag, spinning him until they were face to face with the open bag between them. Several more vials clanked in the depths and Derek reached in and grabbed a handful.

“You know,” he said, voice rough, “it isn’t fair that I’ve been the only one running around being chased all the time.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “What does that mean? I told you that I tested the stuff before I ever brought it over to you.”

Derek nodded, rolling the test tubes slowly between his fingers. “True. But I never got to see it. I mean, I believe you when you say it worked, but maybe we should test to see if my super-mega-alpha senses can track _you_.”

He stepped close and could hear the click in Stiles's throat as he swallowed. “You think that would make a difference? You couldn’t track Peter.”

“Peter said there was something else connecting us,” he lifted a shoulder in a careful shrug, “we should test it and see.”

Wheels within wheels were spinning. If it was a mate bond. If Stiles had chosen him for a mate without telling him. The bond wouldn’t be stopped by the potions. He’d still be able to find his mate.

_Find. Keep. Mark. Mate._

He held the three potions out on his open palm. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

Stiles stared at him, whiskey-bright eyes wide, and he reached for the vials slowly, almost like he wasn’t in control of himself. At Derek’s last words, though, he jerked back to himself and snorted. “Yeah, no. I’m not running off into the Preserve with you chasing after me. I don’t care if I’m invisible to everything and everyone, I’d still manage to trip over a tree root and kill myself. If you’re that set on me trying it, I’ll play along, but I can pretty much promise that you won’t be able to sense me any more than you could Peter. Whatever theory he was contemplating, I think he was way off base.”

He opened the corks and downed the potions with a grace and economy of movement that seemed completely out of place on the flailing body Derek was familiar with, and then, just like with Peter, Stiles was gone.

It took a moment for the rest of the changes to register. The electricity and spice scent was gone, as was the hummingbird heartbeat, and for a gut-wrenching instant Derek grieved their loss, a hole in his world that seemed to echo with emptiness.

“You okay there, Sourwolf?” The empty air spoke, and his wolf stopped howling, clinging to the sound of Stiles's voice.

“Fine,” he said, and he would be. It might just take him a minute. “I’m assuming from where I heard your voice that you haven’t moved yet?”

A hum of agreement sounded. “It’s weird knowing you can’t see me.”

Derek smirked. “That doesn’t mean you should make faces at me or flip me off.”

Stiles squawked indignantly. “You sure you can’t see me?” He huffed. “It isn’t fair if you lie, you know.”

He smiled. “I don’t have to see you to know what you’re going to do, Stiles. I’ve known you long enough to predict things pretty well.”

As far as teasing went, it was pretty tame for them, but Stiles didn’t usually have this kind of protection to hide behind when they were playing around.

Derek stood very still and took a moment to block out the sounds of his own heart and breathing, focusing on the grass and the breeze, trying to see if he could hear Stiles shifting position, but there was something niggling at the edge of his awareness, a quiet little tug that was pulling his attention to the left.

_There._

He didn’t see anything, or hear anything, but he knew as surely as he was breathing that Stiles was standing right there. He didn’t think, he didn’t wait—he pounced, wrapping his arms tightly around the Spark and grinning wildly.

“Caught you.”

Stiles wriggled in his arms, and Derek could feel the heat of his skin wherever they touched. “Not fair! You said you couldn’t see me!”

He released the squirming man and stepped back. “I can’t. You’re totally invisible.”

A huff hung in the air. “Then how did you catch me?”

Derek waited a few seconds before responding, feeling as Stiles shifted position again. He didn’t turn to look at where he knew the Spark was standing. “I could just tell.”

That got him a frustrated growl that was ridiculously appealing to his wolf. “Not fair. Invisibility should give me at least a hope of dodging your wolfitudinousness.”

He moved more quickly, trying to come up behind Derek, apparently looking to surprise him with an attack of his own, but that wasn’t happening. At the last second, Derek turned and grabbed the invisible man with both hands, pulling him into a full-body hold. “What is it they say?” he asked, a little breathlessly. “All’s fair in love and war?”

Stiles's face was pressed into the skin of his neck and he shivered at the angry little snap of teeth he felt ghosting over the tendon there. “Last I knew we weren’t at war, Der.”

Derek slid his hand up Stiles's back, pressing him more firmly into the cradle of his neck and shoulder, as he whispered. “Who said I meant war?”

And just like that he knew, just like Peter had known, there was only one reason he and Stiles could sense each other, only one reason they could find each other no matter how many potions they took or how many senses they sacrificed. They were _mates_ ; they would _always_ find each other.

The body in his arms had stiffened as he spoke. “This isn’t a game, Sourwolf. Let me go.”

Derek sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

The Spark made an angry sound deep in his throat as he thrashed around helplessly trying to get loose. “And I’d rather not be mocked, if it’s all the same to you!”

“I’m not mocking you, Stiles.” Derek tried not to sound angry, but his mate was doubting him, and it made him want to just sweep the Spark into his arms and carry him off to his den so he could keep him there until his mate was boneless and sated and convinced they belonged together forever. “I’m just saying that this isn’t a conversation I’m comfortable having with an invisible man that I’m halfway certain is going to run off into the woods the minute I let go instead of staying here and talking to me, calmly and rationally. At least if I hold on to you, I’m guaranteed I won’t just be talking to myself.”

Stiles stopped wriggling, and Derek couldn’t decide if he was happy or sad about it. “I’m assuming you’ve figured out what Peter was alluding to? About the bond?”

The Spark sounded so small and defeated; it made his heart hurt. “He meant a mate bond, didn’t he?”

Derek felt a hank of floppy hair rub against his cheek as Stiles nodded whispering like he was afraid of what would happen if he spoke the words too loudly, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for anything like this to happen. Honestly, I don’t know how it did happen, it’s not supposed to be something one person can trigger by themselves, but I’m _sure_ I can find a way to control it. I’d never…” he swallowed thickly, hiding his face in Derek’s stubble. “I never intended to _force anything_ on you. Never, Der. I swear. I’ll figure it out. I can fix this.”

And then, between one breath and the next, Stiles was visible there in the circle of his arms, whiskey-bright eyes wet with emotion. Derek raised a finger and gently traced the white-marble camber of his cheek, following an imaginary line connecting his moles in a dreamy dot-to-dot where the only picture brought into focus was how he wanted to touch that skin even more.

“There’s just one problem with that idea, Stiles,” he said, letting the smaller man step back from the cage of his arms, sensing that he needed the breathing room.

“Just one?” he asked. The question was accompanied by a wet laugh, self-deprecating snark back in full force, and Derek nodded. “Yes.”

There wasn’t much height difference between them anymore, but it felt like Stiles had folded in on himself in an attempt to hide somehow. He felt the smaller man brace himself against whatever emotional blow was coming next.

“What’s the problem, then?” He stood there, embattled and beautiful, wrapped in a wisp of defiance and refusing to meet Derek’s gaze. The wolf lifted his mate’s chin with a finger, forcing their eyes to meet, and shook his head slightly. “You can’t fix what isn’t broken.”

Stiles froze for an instant and then his eyes widened, the amber taken over by pupils shot wide in surprise, a deep breath sucked in reflexively against the suffocating panic. “It isn’t broken?”

Derek shook his head again. “Not unless I’ve been broken—my wolf’s been broken—for years now.”

The air between them shuddered with static electricity and Derek wondered wildly for a moment whether making love to the Spark would feel like being struck by lightning. He didn’t care if he burned, though. He’d burn happily if it meant Stiles was in his arms and in his bed and in his heart.

“So,” long fingers splayed over his heart and he knew that Stiles was wishing he could hear heartbeats, could hear lies, “you’ve felt this way? For years?”

It was time. “My wolf chose you as his mate before I chose you as my Emissary.” He wrapped his fingers around Stiles's. “You were an obnoxious kid, but even then, I knew you were smart and loyal. I respected that, even if you annoyed the crap out of me. My wolf paid attention to you, though. Then with the nogitsune, and Mexico, Boyd and Erica, and everyone leaving for school or parts unknown… We were both learning how to live. My wolf missed you terribly, and after a while I realized that so did I.”

Stiles struggled over a laugh. “That’s hard to believe. When I came back after working with Maryam and the other Sparks I was convinced you hated me.”

“Never!” The word came out more forcefully than he intended, but he didn’t apologize. “I didn’t know what to do with you. You’d… changed.”

 _Taller, broader, more confident, talented, powerful, and so, so sexy._ He didn’t know how to explain without sounding like a stalker.

“You’d changed, too.” Stiles looked up at him. “After I came back, I mean. For the first time I felt like you weren’t staring constantly into the past. You’d decided that you were going to actually try to live. To try for a future. You’d let people in.”

Derek supposed that was true. He’d settled into his never-wanted but accidentally regained Alpha-dom and Peter and Cora had filled his need for Pack. Isaac had forgiven him for driving him away and had come back every few months to strengthen their connection. He’d taken a job at the library and spent his evenings writing his own stories, the outlet giving him a place to organize his thoughts without anyone judging him, and then Stiles showed back up, and he knew what he wanted for the first time in a very long time.

And now it looked like he was going to get it.

“I was jealous.” Stiles's voice was quiet, but strong. Derek heard no lie in the words. “I saw you one day at the library. A couple of kids, fresh out of high school and feeling their oats, were standing across the counter from you and you were laughing and teasing them, and you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I’ve seen Lydia Martin naked, so that’s saying something.”

“You’ve seen Lydia naked?” The words were out before he could stop them, but it was surprising. After all those years pining, if he’d gotten as far as having Lydia naked, it was hard to believe Stiles wouldn’t still be chasing the Banshee.

“Yes, we got to naked times, and yes, she’s beautiful, and yes I still think she’s amazing and I love her, but I realized a long time ago that there was something missing in the equation of Lydia plus Stiles equals forever, and it was never going to work.”

Derek wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What? What was missing?”

Stiles rested his head against Derek’s shoulder, the soft warmth of his breath teasing along the bare skin. “Lydia, at her core, lives to break things down. She is control and dissection and understanding and death and destruction. She takes people apart so she can see how they work, and then puts them back together. She loves people, don’t get me wrong, but she loves them _after_ she understands them. I needed someone who loved me even though they didn’t understand me. I’m a Spark. I’m not a genie with _infinite cosmic power_ and an _itty-bitty living space_ , but my magick is all about belief and circumventing the impossible. I need someone who believes in _me_ , even when—maybe _especially_ when—I don’t make sense.”

Derek rubbed their faces together, blatantly scenting everything he could reach, a rumble of pleasure rolling deep in his chest at finally having his mate so close. “I’ve never thought you made sense, but that never stopped me from believing in you.”

He expected a snort and a snarky answer, but Stiles never did the expected.

“Good,” he said, eyes dark and serious for once as they lingered on his wolf’s face, “because I never stopped believing in you, either.”

The distance between them was only inches but it felt like miles, and Derek couldn’t stand it. He wrapped his hand around Stiles's nape and pulled him up, angling his head so that their mouths met halfway. Derek groaned, finally tracing the pink lips that had taunted him for so long. They were soft and pliant under his tongue, opening with a slick wet sound that cut straight through him, and he cursed his need for breath because it meant he had to pull away for air.

“God, Der,” Stiles moaned against his mouth, sucking in a desperate breath of his own, his hands hot and greedy as they trailed up and down over Derek’s chest, “wanted you for so long. Can’t believe I get to have you. Finally get to _have you_.”

Derek took advantage of his gasp and slipped the tip of his tongue into Stiles's mouth, first teasingly shallow, tracing the inside of Stiles's pouting lower lip, and then deeper, searching the corners for all his secrets. He breathed in the spiced ozone of his scent, dizzy with everything. “Yours. Been yours forever. Believe it. Please, _please_ believe it.”

Stiles laughed, a joyous bubble of a thing that set his wolf dancing, and cupped Derek’s face with his hands. He stood there, staring, the amber of his eyes glowing molten gold in the afternoon light and said, “I’ll never doubt it again. Never doubt _us_ again.”

And he didn’t.


End file.
